From Scottish Dialect
by Lew Caccia



Whenever I think, some notion
in the cloud or other confluence
that floats the mooring will seize
upon the wonderful convenience,
joukery-pawkery.

That bluster, “To duck, to dodge,”
has danced into its corner so few
adherents. Like a hollow barrel
the empty drum thinly porous,
joukery-pawkery.

I keep seeking that latent horizon
beyond a rip where a stone was cast
skimming that tide. It wasn’t easy to
wander back, when the cause gave way,
joukery-pawkery.

Henceforth as the middling struts
while the attendant speaks in tenets,
the graylag flock north of the Solway
knowing their ways instinctively,
joukery-pawkery.

Should such bold paths be excoriated,
our valorous sense refused by the heap,
that bluster will have taken root. Then
again, it serves as motivation,
joukery-pawkery.






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